Behind the Mask
by velvetsins
Summary: When General Skywalker returns to London he is immediately tasked to find the opposers of the Crown. There is no more fitting place than the Pantheon, famous for its debauched masquerades, to start his search. He just did not expect to be reacquainted with Duchess Amidala there or at all. When all secrets are uncovered, what lies behind the mask? [Regency AU, Anidala, Vaderdala, M]


**Hi xD**

 **I won't come up with any excuses for bringing to life a new fic. It will sufice to say I've been a Star Wars and Anidala fan for a very long time and that I had this first chapter written since February, but didn't have enough courage within me to post it.**

 **Today, however, I thought** _ **why not?**_ **And here you have it.** _ **Behind the Mask**_ **is an Anidala Regency AU, set in 1814, for I don't have it within myself to post a fic in the universe – don't think I am that good of a writer to manage to write something in such complex universe. Maybe later…**

 **Keep in mind English is not my first language and that I don't have a beta, so you'll find some mistakes. Sorry, I'm still learning and I'll do my very best to make this an enjoyable reading.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **Warnings: It will contain at times; violence, sexual, drugs and historical references, coarse language and OOCness.**

* * *

 **Behind the Mask**

I – Unexpectedly

* * *

 _"And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but the truth in masquerade." – Lord Byron_

 _ **A long time ago in a kingdom far, far away…**_

 **The BRITISH EMPIRE triumphed over NAPOLEON and he is now exiled in the Mediterranean island of Elba. However, many believe the WAR is not over and that as long as Napoleon lives there will be unrest in Europe.**

 **The HERO with no fear, Anakin Skywalker, finds a very different LONDON in his arrival. Although the war has seemingly ended, both the HOUSE OF LORDS and COMMONS explode with disagreements over the signing of the Peace Treaty.**

 **DUCHESS AMIDALA, known for her strong opinions about the money spent on the war and for exposing corrupt politicians, has now a gigantic prize put over her head. As the attempts on her life grows significantly dangerous, fate puts her back in the presence of her once protector...**

 **~ London, 1814 ~**

Silence.

That was all that seemed to exist in the great hall of the House of the Lords. Even the shallowest breath would not go unnoticed. All pair of eyes were set upon the diminutive figure of a woman standing proud in front of all of them.

A woman.

In a place created by and for men. Ruled by men.

A woman.

In a place where there should only be men. In a place where only men should be allowed to roam freely and to speak. In a place where Duke Organa was expected to speak in opposition to the ongoing War against France and in favor of the signing of the Peace Treaty.

 _A woman._

A well-known and powerful woman at that — even though the idea of adjectivizing a woman as such seemed a bit over measured.

"Duke Organa is nowhere to be found," a Parliamentarian spoke, drawing everyone's attention to his towering figure.

There was resounding silence. The tension was at its peak as a clearing of throat redirected eyes to the petite figure once again.

"I will speak on his behalf."

Instead of muteness, there was an explosion of shocked whispers and murmurs. It did not seem to aggravate the standing woman in the least. On the contrary, she seemed quite appeased at the entire situation and quite comfortable in her skin.

Whenever she herself appeared in the House of Lords or sent a representative there was unrest. Everyone was on edge – her words had the ability to do that. Only a very few did not have anything to fear.

A Parliamentarian even rose from his seat to voice his disagreement, he was cut short, however, by the Leader of the House, Duke Sheev Palpatine.

"Duchess Amidala will be permitted to speak," his advisory, Mas Amedda, announced, his deep voice commanding everyone's attention.

"Teckla Minau…"

She waited for the whispers and snarky remarks to die down in the hall before she continued.

"Teckla is one of my aides…" She made a pause. "Like so many of the people that this House tell they are here to serve, Teckla comes from Saint Giles, a district that rarely has water now. Its citizens can barely afford daily food as a result of the War."

 _War…_

Such word seemed to catch their attention.

Duchess Amidala pursed her lips into a thin line and thought carefully of her next words.

"Her siblings can now only eat three meals a day once in a month. Her father, recently returned from the War has never received the amount he was promised when he retired from military duty."

It was really no surprise to anyone in that place that the poorest were suffering greatly. The soldiers so exalted in the War propaganda were forgotten as soon as they returned from the battlefield, unless they were either wealthy or were well appointed for - and there lay the greatest lack of respect for those who left everything behind to fight for a War that mostly did not concern them.

It did not help the tiniest bit that most who have returned earlier from the War were either badly injured or retired.

"The Empire has always funded these basic services, but now there are those who would divert the money to the war with no thought for what the people need to survive."

The accusation in her tone made a few of the Parliamentarians freeze in place. Duchess Amidala was famous for exposing more than a fair share of corrupt politicians in the past decade.

"If not for people like Teckla and her siblings, her _father_ , who are we fighting for?" She took a sharp intake of breath. No one could ever deny she was a great speaker. If women were allowed in the House of Commons or the House of Lords, the Whigs would have a great representative. The Duchess spoke with passion, a necessary trait to survive in the political world. "This war is meant to save them from suffering, not increase it. I support our brave soldiers, whether they come from our own Kingdom or from any of the several countries loyal to us, but if we continue to impoverish our people, it's not on the battlefield where Napoleon will defeat us, but in our own homes."

The silence was stunning as she looked at each of the faces staring back at her. Some believed in her words and agreed with them. War created more War. Most were skeptical. What could a woman know of War? Its politics and its financial costs?

Women had one duty only: provide healthy heirs to their husbands. Duchess Amidala failed miserably with hers.

"Therefore, it is our duty and our responsibility to preserve the lives of those around us by signing this Peace Treaty."

This time, instead of silence, her words were met with a round of applause. Even her opposers rose from their chairs to pay her the due respect.

Duchess Amidala curtsied, not at all bothered with the questions about Duke Organa's absence. She could have pinpointed it was solely because someone — with sordid excuses, which was about almost everyone in that House — did not want him speaking about the Peace Treaty at all.

War was a very profitable thing — it probably fell on step with colonization — and no one seemed to bother with the heavy loses or the huge blows it dealt to their poorest and most frail people. Not when their pockets were full.

To sign a Peace Treaty before redrawing the European borders did not seem an advantageous option — a practicable one at least. If there was someone who could convince the respectable gentlemen of that House, it was surely Duke Organa — who was surprisingly missing out of the blue.

She walked down the corridors of the House of Lords in relatively silence, the only sounds accompanying her were of her heels hitting the wooden floor and those of whispers.

However, if there was something that have always followed her entire life, it was certainly murmurs of either shock or reproach. Admiration, perhaps. It was not every day a woman dared to cross a men's path, as Duchess Amidala so fearlessly did.

It was not every day a widower of a titleless rich banker gave up on an immense fortune — some claimed his wealth rivaled that of the Crown — for foolish ideals of not funding a War she never thought reasonable in the first place. Others knew very well that once unable to give birth to the needed heir — any kind of heir, male of female —, Duchess Amidala had to give it up for a male in his family, the next in the line of succession.

For an American family who prided themselves on what they called meritocracy, they still stuck to some very old-fashioned rules.

Not that Padmé cared. Rush Clovis' fortune had been both a blessing and a curse. At first a blessing, for it took her entire family from bankruptcy — and saved many from certain starvation. Not to mention it helped rebuild the family's business —, but then it became a curse for it brought along an unhappy and loveless marriage.

Back then, it seemed an obvious choice to make. Between herself and her personal aspirations — her love life — and the well-fare of her people… There was not much of a decision to make.

It was clear as day. And no matter how much it hurt — how much Anakin Skywalker would hate her later —, it had to be done. After all, no one could accuse Duchess Amidala for taking the easy way out. In the end, she had always been the rational one in their relationship.

And lastly, Baron Rush Clovis had never been a bad man or a bad husband — if anything, he was merely a man of his time, with its idiosyncrasies —, but Padmé could never bring herself to love him.

To care for him… and, of course, to love him as friend, yes… Certainly. However, the much needed passion any healthy relationship required was somewhat lacking… Not his doing… If it depended on him, their union would be… passionate, she reasoned in the absence of a better term.

As sad as it was, there were certain days in which she thanked the heavens he was gone — even though a few minutes later she regretted how horribly egoistical she sounded. Most of them, however, she was glad to be rid of both their union and his money.

She came to a stop as soon as she heard steps matching hers. Looking over her shoulders, she could not help but smile in appreciation.

"Thank you for letting me speak, Your Grace."

Duke Palpatine merely curtsied.

"You are welcome, Duchess Amidala." He brought her gloved hand to his lips. "There will come a day in which this House will welcome women as well. You have spoken brilliantly."

"Apparently not soon enough."

She knew she should have kept that to herself, but sometimes, she just could not prevent the words from coming to life. Nevertheless, she would not find a harsh rebuttal. If anything, Sheev Palpatine agreed wholeheartedly with her.

A smile of sympathy outlined his thin lips.

"I am afraid so, my dear."

In a courteous gesture, he offered his arm for her to take, guiding her through the hallways towards his office. She came to a halt and placed her gloved hand over his.

"I wouldn't want to delay you or the vote, Your Grace."

"Nonsense," he chastised in a paternal tone. "We are in recess."

She seemed unsure, but he would have none of that. He had seen Padmé Naberrie Amidala grow up close by. Being close to her parents and a fellow countryman, he could not help but care for the child who so desperately tried to bring peace to a castigated land that had seen better days.

He, too, wanted nothing more than peace. However, he was an experienced, old man who had seen too much to believe the War would end only because Napoleon had been exiled.

The Kingdom and Europe were in chaos and there was no peace in chaos.

Order should be reestablished first.

And such order could only be achieved with tight and utter control.

"Come, my dear, I know we have distinguished opinions concerning this War, but were a both peace-seekers." He held onto her fingers in a slight grip. When she nodded and smiled politely, he knew he had her. "I would gladly hear your opinions over tea."

* * *

"General Skywalker?"

There was a light knock on the double-faced doors. As an answer, a mere chuckle that sounded slightly muffled. He could not discern whether it came from his longtime friend or the… _mistress_ that accompanied him. Whomever that was.

"Oh, General Kenobi!" A woman he quickly recognized as Chelli Lona answered to the door with a small smile he quickly identified as trouble. And if there was something Obi-Wan Kenobi wanted far away from him it was surely that.

She leaned against the threshold, all disheveled and panting; between her lips and bright teeth, she bit a crown and later put it inside her tight corset. Ever the gentleman, Obi-Wan shifted his eyes to her face.

"Mistress Aphra," he began, bringing her bare hand — he could not help but notice — to his lips in a courteous kiss. "What a pleasure."

"Lord Vader can't see you right now."

If nothing, her words only made him all the more curious. He tried peaking inside the room, but thought that maybe, _just maybe,_ he was not properly dressed — and if Lady Aphra's state were of any indication…

"But if you need some sort of a distraction… I'm always willing to help."

He took his time to reply, a bit shocked by her forwardness. He had never seen Lady Aphra in person, but her fame preceded her. In fact, the words he heard of her before were a bit pale in comparison to the cunning and detached woman in front of him. He coughed.

"I am afraid I am a bit old for such… _endeavor_ s."

"Hardy…" she replied, running her fingers over the lapels of his coat; working an innocent caress over his chest. "We could sur—

"Aphra." A voice called from inside the room. A broad body stopped right behind her; hands on her shoulders. "Leave him alone."

"Anakin!"

"Old man," he greeted him with a smile, offering his hand for a shake. "I've missed you."

Chelli put a finger on her lips and tried to conceal her smirk, with little success. Anakin looked at her, the sides of his mouth flattening as quick as understanding downed on him.

She has always been quick to understand his moods. Clever and competent, and he would not have her any other way. It does not mean he was ever willing to accept her insolent behavior.

He gestured for Obi-Wan to enter the room, signaling their conversation and time together was over. He knew, however, that was long as he did not say the words, she would not bat an eye.

"I have no more need of you. Leave."

She inhaled deeply. The time for their departure was never an easy one. Lady Aphra was not a woman who enjoyed being dismissed. Not when she firmly believed they were somewhat bound by destiny. Or the ridiculously idea that he was what she was looking for in her life.

As for him, he did not believe in that misconception of hers. It was bullshit. Purely bullshit.

Bowing dutifully, she crumpled the small note he gave her earlier and smiled with grace.

"I won't let you down, Lord Vader."

And even though he did trust her services to every extent, he could not help but say, "See that you don't."

"Is she…" he began, as Anakin closed the door on Aphra's face. The rest of his sentence was left in the air. He deemed his friend smart enough to catch the meaning of his unsaid words.

There was a low chuckle as Anakin walked towards the old sideboard and poured both of them a small dose of whiskey. Obi-Wan accepted it and tipped his head lightly in thanks.

"Because I don't see the point of meeting in a brothel…" he stopped his thoughts and stared at Anakin with narrowed eyes. "Unless you don't want anyone to think more of it, which is actually a highly intelligent move, my old apprentice."

* * *

"Precisely."

For the briefest of moments, they both shared a look that said it all. Anakin poured more whiskey to himself and raised his glass in a cheer.

"You know…" He touched his beard in a pensive manner. "I don't trust her entirely."

"Neither do I." His response came accompanied by a shrug. "What can I say? She gets the job done."

Obi-Wan arched an eyebrow. It had been a while since he had last seen his old apprentice. Throughout the War, they had been assigned to several posts. Some of their battles were fought together, others they were parted.

In spite of the catastrophic results of the War of the Fifth Coalition for the Austrian Empire, Anakin came to be known as the hero with no fear. Contrary to him, he was not willing to work with people he did not trust — which was very telling, once he could count on his fingers how many people he trusted. Not that someone could blame him with his sad background… And the disastrous break-up with Duchess Amidala only damaged his ability to trust others further.

Far more experienced in the matters of both war and relationships, Obi-Wan was acutely aware that trust has no place when there was a work to be done.

During the War of the Sixth Coalition, both had been victorious in the Battle of Leipzig, which earned his friend a nobiliary title at the Austrian court. They had to split nearly the end of the War. While Anakin was sent to fight in the Battle of Paris, Obi-Wan only arrived later for the Battle of Toulouse, fighting beside the almighty Duke of Wellington.

So, yes, he had been caught off guard with the news of his old apprentice working with someone he did not trust. It was hard to tell whether it was a good or bad sign.

"By now, you are probably aware you have gathered the Crown's attention," he began, letting go of the 'trust' topic for now. He would surely return to it once they have discussed the urgent issue at hand. He took a seat closer to the windows, looking absentmindedly to the glass between his hands. "Now the War is over, the Crown is eager to find its opposers." He looked up at his friend, his blue eyes shining with concern. "Anakin, I suggest you join Duke Palpatine in the Theatre tonight. Please don't—

"I took it."

"…take it," he finished, a bit dismayed at the possibility of Anakin working for the Crown once again. "I thought you were eager to return to Austria."

Anakin let out a sigh. He, too, took a seat and stared at nothing for a moment.

He seemed lost. Hurt. And empty. Obi-Wan did not like what he saw in his azure eyes. It looked as if he was not staring at a young hero in his mid-twenties, but someone much, much older.

And darker.

Anakin had always been full of light. And darkness too. But the light had always been stronger. Since when did he lost all hope?

And why did he never see it coming?

When his bluish eyes focused on his longtime friend again, he finished his whiskey in a single sip.

The answer made Obi-Wan bit his tongue in guilt.

"There is nothing left to me back there."

He shook his head. Why did he have to be so stubborn? Accepting that job was a terrible mistake. How could he not see it? Anakin was a warrior — no doubt an excellent one — but not a politician. _Never a politician._ He was not cunning enough to mingle in the Ton. He lacked not only the proper wealthy to circulate among them, but also the necessary slyness.

The Ton was quite the cruel place, he knew it firsthand, being married to Duchess Satine Kryze for a couple of years now. The title of Duke consort brought him little peace since their wedding. Obi-Wan was not only considered an utterly disgrace in their eyes given his irreproachable role as a General during the War of the Fifth and Sixth Coalition, mainly due to the later — that and the fact he fathered two children. Korkie was a healthy, six-year-old boy while his younger sister, Kythee was a cherubic eight-months-old now.

In their eyes, he was, contrary to Atee Kryze, at least able to father a male heir. In the Ton it was of such an admired skill, it was probably worthier than his impeccable handling of the sword.

"You don't know what you are up against."

As an answer, a smile…

…which was kind of what Obi-Wan expected. It made him let out a tired sigh.

"The unknown has never scared me, old man."

"You know nothing of these people." He shook his head. "Anakin, I—

He raised his hand, shutting off whatever he had to say, be it of agreement or opposition. The smile fell from his lips and all that remained was a deep scowl.

"Don't patronize me, Obi-Wan," he snarled. "I'm not a child anymore. I know what I am doing."

"Well, we can only hope you do…"

Even though he knew it would only damage their already strained relationship, he felt compelled to add his usual line _you have much to learn, my young apprentice._

Shadows sculpted his handsome profile as he watched with sharp-like attention the crowded Ballroom from high above, in a dim-lighted balcony. Arms folded on his chest, he observed every gesture and every move of lips in an attempt to decipher what he could not hear.

Duke Palpatine would have to forgive him, but as much as he hated balls — in fact, he hated Opera and the Shakespearean plays as well —, he could not pass the opportunity to join the Ton in the famous Pantheon. And it was better than sitting for hours watching Macbeth. If his memory did not fail him, the Leader of the House of Lords loved this particular Shakespearean play more than should be appropriate.

He had received word there would be a Masquerade there, a place that has always attracted all kind of miscreants. There was no better place in the entire London to start his searches for those who opposed the Crown.

True, he still had to muster the courage to leave his shadowed spot and mingle in. If there was something he had always been unsure about was mingling with the Ton — or politicians for that matter, for the Pantheon was full of politicians tonight, he thought grimly.

However, he was sure the opposers of the Crown were part of the Ton and certainly most of them were politicians as well.

 _I hate them._

In fact, there were just a few he could openly trust. _And one he once said he was not so sure about_ — even though she was just an aspirant instead of a real politician. Not that she did not have the guts and the talent for such…

 _Enough!_ he admonished himself and focused his attention back on the crown downstairs. He did not have any time to think of Amidala and her choices…

…Choices that he agreed back then. Choices that he supported. Choices that he forced her to make, if he would so kindly recall.

 _Concentrate._

He had never been good at concentrating; his thoughts were all noisy and his attention scattered all over. But he learned that he could do more than one thing at time. And right now, he could hear a couple of masked strangers talking about Duke Organa's sudden no-show at today's speech in the House of the Lords.

Funny, because Organa did not strike as a man who would simply miss a session in which he was supposed to speak on behalf of the signing Peace Treaty.

 _Unless…_

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Duchess Satine Kryze approaching. Even though she wore a purple mask that covered most of her regal face, he could discern her blonde locks in that unique hairdo from afar. Her bluish eyes were full of sympathy and concern.

She did not voice anything though. Whatever was going on that peace-seeker and motherly mind of hers did not reach him.

"You owe me a dance," she said instead.

"I hate dancing, milady."

And yet, as if it was automatic to grant her every wish, he took her gloved hand and placed it on the crook of his arm as he guided her downstairs to the Ballroom.

"That's why I said you owe me. It's not an invitation." There was a small and devilish smile on her lips as she watched the handsome profile of her husband from afar. He was currently talking to an old friend of his. He nodded as he watched her; his right hand touching his beard in his signature gesture. She turned back to Anakin and her smile softened. "Besides, you owe me for not visiting Korkie today."

"I apologize," he said and the undertone of sincerity did not escape her. "I will pay him a visit tomorrow. I miss him." His earnestness to visit his godson moved her, but it did not mean she would let him go so easily though.

"It warms my heart to know you care so deeply for my Korkie." She squeezed his hand lightly. "He loves you as well, Anakin."

"Lord Vader," he corrected her as he guided her to the center of the Ballroom.

It was a Masquerade after all. If someone were to call him by any name, be it by his recent title, so no one would recognize him. Tonight, he was a servant of the Crown. Not the famous General Skywalker people loved to label as the Hero with no fear. For just one night, he hoped to pass by as a stranger in the eyes of the London society.

"Lord Vader, it is," she replied with a roll of eyes as they took their positions.

He hated dancing. But he hated fast dances with passion. He did expect something bolder — and slower — like Waltz to be the choice of the time, as it had been for the last three rounds. Instead, five couples joined them in the _Strasbourgeoise Cotillion._

Each couple bowed before they formed a circle; hand in hand. Satine was on his right side; on the left, a brunette woman placed her fingers upon his. She was wearing a navy-blue mask and her lips were tinted with the most crimson color he had ever seen. They moved in synchrony to the left and then to the right, till they split up and he was paired up with Satine; their arms crossed at their backs and hands intertwined.

"For a man who hates dancing, you have quite the light feet, my Lord," she commented with an analytic expression.

He smirked at her audacity. It seems that she too took a liking to tease him. Not that he was far behind. He loved teasing Obi-Wan at every opportunity he got.

"You are not so bad yourself, Duchess."

"Careful, my friend," Obi-Wan meddled from his close position. "We wouldn't want her mad at both of us."

He did not have the proper time to reply as they had to switch pairs as the dance etiquette ruled. He was now paired with the brunette from earlier.

There was silence as they moved together. Closer to him, he could see Satine and Obi-Wan exchanging a look that said more than he could decipher or think of now. He focused his attention back on his partner; she was all smooth and underneath deadly precision. He had learned at a fair age that dancing was a powerful form of communication and in a time in which men and women could barely interact if not in the presence of others, it could convey so much more than words in most of situations.

Granted, there was something familiar about the woman in his arms. And it certainly was not her common brown eyes or her exquisite curls of the very same color — were they darker? He could not precise with the dim lights. Perhaps it was the way she looked around as if in search of something. Or the way she looked up at him from her petite stature and past his shoulder as if watching everyone around them.

As if she, too, was in an undercover mission for... _whoever it was…_

…Or she was the very person he was looking for in the entire night.

He did not have enough time to come up with any words, for they had to split up again. The women moved to the center of the circle the men created around them in the shape of a star.

"You look troubled." He heard Lady Satine saying as soon as she moved back to his arms.

"I am tired," he replied, not taking his eyes from the petite brunette paired up with his longtime friend.

When a smile brightened her features and curved her generous rouge lips, he searched the depths of his mind to find a perfect match.

 _For there was a match._

He was close to that when Satine's soft voice dragged him from his musings.

"Understandably." She, too, did not miss the way he looked at her friend. She wondered, though if he knew who she was. Or if she had any idea who was the man she had just danced with. "…beautiful, isn't she?"

"Do you know who she is?" he asked, barely able to conceal his eagerness.

Satine shrugged.

"Perhaps."

Even though Anakin knew she would not disclose any more information, he tried.

"And…"

"And it's a Masquerade, Lord Vader. People are supposed to come and go as they please without having their identities disclosed."

He pursed his lips into a thin line. It was clear he did not like her answer, but he could not argue with the logic behind her words.

"You are right."

"Aren't I always?" she asked with a hint of a smile.

Instead of focusing on that — or let his brooding mood spoil the night — she thought that perhaps she should seize the opportunity and be forward with him. "Look, Obi-Wan told me you accepted to work for the Crown."

His head snapped back to hers and he drew in a sharp breath. His blue eyes were tempestuous.

If he was in a brooding mood before, only God would have mercy on them now that she brought in the dreaded topic. His hand over hers tightened ever slightly as he twirled her twice before bringing her back to his arms.

"I don't want to talk about it, Your Grace."

 _Your Grace…_

Anakin barely ever called her by her title and when he did it was mainly for two occasions. He was either teasing her or straight pissed off with her.

With a shake of head, she noticed the engaging music come to a stop. Bowing, he brought her gloved hand to his lips in a gentlemanly kiss and the usual words — even if devoid of the proper emotion — left his lips.

"Your Grace, a mortal such as myself could only thank you for your wonderful company."

He gave her his back, ready to return to his place when her words, full of concern, reached him.

"Be careful."

* * *

 _Almost nine…_

He placed his watch back on his pocket and looked ahead, his azure eyes glued on the dancing forms beneath. From his peripheral vision, he could see Obi-Wan approaching with Satine — and he could not shake the warmth of her words. However misguided she was, he knew she cared and that was more than he could say about most people in his life — and another woman.

 _Quarter to nine…_

Aphra said there would be a signal — and she could not say no more for his friend abruptly interrupted them. A signal somewhat related to what the Crown expected of him. Of course she did not know everything and thus could not give him a full report. And that was much because he did not trust her. _Not entirely._

He had learned to never give her the entire information. He had learned to suspect everything and everyone. He would not put his entire trust in someone ever again.

Not after Padmé left him.

 _Not after Ahsoka left him._

Two very different circumstances, yes. But all traumatic in its own terms.

He pursed his lips and shifted his attention back to the trio. They were within his reach and he could hear Obi-Wan contented chuckle and Satine and Mysterious Lady's excited whispers.

"Don't you agree, Duchess—

"Yes," Padmé interrupted, not very keen on having her name disclosed to a stranger.

There was silence for a moment, as Anakin straightened his back and cleared his throat. He felt constricted in her presence. It was not a comfortable feeling and certainly one he had not felt in a very long time.

Her voice…

It seemed to call out to him.

It seemed…

… _familiar…_

"Do I know you, my lady?"

Obi-Wan exchanged a meaningful glance with Satine. It did not go amiss by any of the two, even though they seemed to overhaul each other.

"Possibly," she replied, mysteriously. "However, if I may be so bold—

"…that's the very intention of a Masquerade…" Satine interrupted, the tension growing thick by the second. She pursed her lips into a thin line at the reproachful glance Obi-Wan cast at her. She did not recoil though.

 _She would never._

"Yes…" Padmé agreed; she was grateful Satine had settled to play along. "To meet people you most probably know and actually not be able to recognize them."

Silence.

That was all that seemed to exist in the — now so very tiny — dim-lighted balcony. It was so thick and uncomfortable and unbearable that they all could hear when the pointers of Anakin's watch-pocket moved.

The music down below stopped and the couples stopped dancing. It seemed the musicians chose that moment to stay accompany them in their silence.

He could only guess… Was it nine already?

The first sound of an excited and too much _happy_ piano reached their ears. The petrified couples in the dance hall finally moved, as if awakened to the next round of dances. This time, instead of the _strasbourgeoise coutillon, gallop_ reined in the Ballroom.

The mysterious Lady looked down…

…at the same time he did it…

The signal.

Anakin flashed a smile.

He took a dare.

"I am Lord Vader…" He said, bringing her gloved hand to his lips, lingering more than should be appropriate for a gentleman. "At your disposal... _Milady._ "

* * *

 **A/N – I know this is long for a first chapter, but it's shorter than the first version. I cut almost 2k words xD**

 **I simply loooove Padmé's first scene – which I took and adapted from TCW. It won't happen all the time, but it will happen throughout the story. Hope you don't mind. I know if it was real, she wouldn't be allowed to speak, but allow me to bend the rules just once, ok?**

 **Everyone is a bit is OOC, I know. Satine is much closer to Anakin here than she is in TCW. I'm trying to play with both Anakin and Vader's personality, so he will always be a mixture of both.**

 **I have chapter two already written and I'll update it within next week, max 15 days.**

 **Now, would you mind telling me what you think? I'd love to hear your thoughts.**

 **And lastly, may the 4th be with you!**

 **Take care,**

 **Velvetsins.**


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